


Broken Hearts and Wishful Thoughts

by strikeyourcolors



Series: Control(led) Issues [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt, Enemies to Lovers, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Heartache, Jason Todd Has Issues, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-01 22:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Everything comes to a head when Red Hood gets involved in the battles of Batman and Robin. Nightwing finds he can't stop what's about to happen, even if he saw it coming a mile away. Jason is confronting everyone in the family, moving toward his ultimate showdown with Bruce.Dick doesn't want to let Jason go, but he can't hold together broken pieces any longer. It's the beginning of the end. He just hopes he can keep them from shattering.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no! It's the end. Sort of. There's going to be another chapter (which you probably guessed by the current rating and lack of tabs) to follow this one and then we really will be done with this series. This is one of those stories that started with a very basic and smutty concept and evolved into a saga thanks to reviews and comments and I'm so glad it did. 
> 
> Timeline wise this follows immediately on the heels of the previous story and connects with the canon events in "Under the Red Hood". 
> 
> Surprisingly few warnings stand for this chapter. Blood, gore, injuries, and an outpouring of emotion from Jason Todd.

Jason finds that things go to shit pretty quickly when he sets his mind to it. Or, as the case may be, if he's in the general area. He's guilty of a lot (a whole hell of a lot, actually) but there are some things in his life that can not be reconciled with anything but the fact that the universe hates him.

Dick is his fault. He'd led Dick, somehow, into seeing beyond the brokenness. He's given him hope he can piece Jason back together in something approaching functional or lovable or worthwhile. He can't. No one can. Jason's not sure if he actually ever let himself believe but sometimes with Dick it had been...nice. Nice to pretend. Nice to push aside the rage and the haze of his resurrection and just exist. To guess at what things would have been like if Bruce had made it in time to save him, or even if Bruce had avenged him in the first place. 

Things didn't turn out that way. As Jason hefts Dick's unconscious form in his arms, he's all too aware of it. Dick is still twitching a little, and his face is going to be swollen all to hell in a few hours. Jason's not sure if he feels guilty or satisfied to have ruined that perfection. He considers punching Dick a little bit more but decides that it's not Red Hood's style to beat Nightwing to a catatonic pulp. He knows something about those. He's also surprised to find that, when he has the opportunity, he's not eager to kill Dick. Even knowing how much it would hurt Bruce. But he needs him out of the way. 

The closet is considered and instantly dismissed. The thought of anyone, even Dick, waking up in so tight a space has Jason cringing internally. He settles for dragging the other man into the bathroom and cuffing both arms and legs to  the feet of a claw-foot bathtub. It will take Dick time to get out of the cuffs, providing he even wakes up in a timely manner. Jason makes sure his pulse is present, and steady (never know about above the heart shots with that taser) and, before he can help himself, smooths hair from Nightwing's face. He's surprised when he presses his dry, cracked lips to Dick's clammy skin as he strips him of all his little toys to delay him further. 

He seals Dick into the bathroom with a bookshelf and a few tables pressed against the door. Then the little communicator in his hand, the one he'd taken from Nightwing, crackles to life. Jason startles a tiny bit at the new Robin's voice. Has his plan been found out already? Traced so soon? But it's Nightwing that the boy calls out for. "Hurry," He pants. "Assassins? Please, Nightwing. I can't find B and-" There's a sound that Jason knows is breaking bone. The communicator goes silent. 

He has a choice here. Bruce is on the Joker's trail and Batman isn't with his Robin and Jason has concrete proof of that. But someone else is. If Talia's assassins really have arrived there...

Jason knows Talia doesn't trust him. He didn't think she'd give proof of that so soon. He doesn't care what happens to that little boy or to the building that gave him shelter for a few short years. He cares about vengeance. He cares about punishing Bruce for what he's done. He cares about the Joker. 

It makes a hideous amount of sense. An Arkham breakout, assisted by assassins. The Joker on the loose when Jason has been faltering in his plan. His hand is being forced and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all. But at the same time he realizes it's not an opportunity he can pass up. 

The universe still hates him. Currently the universe is acting through Talia al Ghul. 

~*~*~

He arrives with the directions that Robin gave Nightwing easily enough. He's always had a good head for directions and even if he hadn't, the signs of battle are everywhere. A scrape in the stone here, a trampled place of mud (and worse things) there. Blood on the walls, on the floor, and a couple of bodies that he can tell are breathing and so he ignores. Tim's moved, and it's a moment later that Jason realizes why. Help has arrived. It's not the help he's expected.

Jason is running before he realizes it. Toward the sound of a shotgun blast because he knows Alfred is the only one in this family who uses guns. It's never occurred to him before, that Alfred has killed. That Alfred expresses little doubt in having to kill again if it comes down to it. 

It's come down to it, Jason sees instantly. The Replacement is collapsed in the dead end of a tunnel. He has one hand pressed to his middle. The Robin suit is largely red, but there's enough darkness staining it that Jason can see he has a pretty bad gut wound. 

Robin also has a dislocated elbow and a broken leg. His cheek is already swelling and he'll be lucky if his eye doesn't swell shut. Jason's not sure if he's secretly pleased because this is the kid Bruce replaced him with and he's been brought down or if he's absolutely enraged because this is still a kid and Bruce has no reason or business putting him in harm's way. 

But it's Alfred that Jason's eyes stay on. Alfred looks a little worse for the wear. His hands are bloody, his knuckles scraped as he pumps the shotgun. He's standing in front of Tim, over him like some bodyguard in a butler's uniform. He has a tactical vest on and some heavier pants, but precious little else. He's protecting him, as much as he's able and Jason isn't sure exactly how he should feel when he sees it. There's something like raw horror in his mind in the fact that it had been Alfred riding in to save the day, because the man is good but he's nothing against assassins and the Joker.

 _This is what you wanted,_ his mind coos. _Break the Bat._ But no, this had never been Jason's plan. He'd never wanted to get at Bruce by hurting the people Bruce loved because that was...

That was very much the reason he'd been taken away from Bruce. It hadn't been fair to him. He wouldn't do that to someone else. Not this way. 

The kid looks up at him with such a desperate hope that Jason's stomach rolls. Probably he thinks at first glance it's Nightwing or Batman himself come to save the day. Jason's always been shit at reading faces or emotions or much of anything, but another look shows something else. Realization. Awe. Hero worship from a kid who spent his nights following Batman and Robin around and hoping for just one photograph of them.

And Alfred. Alfred's expression is so uncertain that it aches. It hurts him that Alfred might think Jason would order or support this. Possibly as much as it hurts Alfred to think the kid who discussed censorship of _The Well of Loneliness_ while eating ginger cookies at the kitchen table might go to these lengths for his revenge. Might have them murdered with a whimper in some sewage pipes.

Jason launches into action. The assassin closest to them goes down with a bullet to the chest and Jason pistol whips the one that thinks he can rush up behind him. A small squad, skilled for assassination. Talia's people, not Ra's' and Jason knows what to make of that. Talia thinks he's rogue. Talia wants to keep him on his path. Talia's decided he's taking too long so she's going to fix it all for him. 

He channels the rage for their mistress into his fight. He can see Alfred clubbing one with the butt of his gun when he tries to get back up but even that feels far away. Talia interfered. Talia threatened what he's been working so hard for. Jason is still sore and aching from his round with Dick but he manages. Talia always was underestimating Alfred. She probably hadn't expected Replacement would be a problem either. Jason is more than livid at any threat to the old man and he's sure the brutality of it reflects his feeling as he snaps a clavicle in half against his knee.

"My dear boy," Alfred says to him, softly, when the assassins are scattered around them unconscious or dead. Jason is left panting, a pile of bodies like a fairy ring around him. Replacement is breathing shallowly, wide eyed and pale with his fingers clutched around a batarang and the other hand pressed to his gut. Alfred is keeping one arm curled close to his chest. Shoulder injury, Jason thinks, and Replacement has probably only lived this long thanks to Alfred..  Jason stares at him and he knows the moment Alfred places fingers on his arm that he would have defended his charge to the death. And, maybe a little bit, Jason can appreciate the fact that somewhere he knows that the trade had been equal and not-Robin obtained his injuries keeping Alfred safe. The warmth in the man's hands, however, the determination to not shy away from him, make Jason wonder if Alfred might have done the same for him.

When Jason thinks of Wayne Manor having ever been his home, he thinks of afternoons dusting the plantation shutters in the west wing or of Alfred explaining to him which knife is used to debone the meat and which to slice. He purposefully doesn't think of Bruce's large hand on his shoulder or how he'd explained a battle from the Revolutionary War by using his chess pieces. 

Alfred's touch is fleeting, however, and his attention is back to the kid slowly bleeding out on the ground. He kneels beside him. “If you would be so kind as to remove your hand from your side, Master Ti-Robin.” Alfred frowns. “I shall ring for a doctor post haste.”

“Liver damage,” Jason notes as Tim forces his hand away and Alfred peels the top of the uniform from battered flesh. “That's why it's bleeding so much and why he's whimpering like a bitch.” It's also one of the signature moves for Talia's people. It will kill you but far more slowly. Slowly enough, Jason thinks, that it was hopeful Bruce himself would be there to witness it. That he would circle back for his wayward bird and find a dead one. It hits too close to home.

“Back out,” Alfred says practically and starts to lift Tim. He doesn't ask for Jason's help and Jason is torn between appreciative and useless. Alfred's arm is clearly damaged, and he can only shoulder so much of Tim's weight. “To the Cave, I should think. It is closest.” When he actually stops to think this out he doesn't know why he's here. He doesn't know how he got involved enough that there are bodies on the floor and they are people Talia sent to help him. She's going to be pissed when she finds out. She's probably not far behind her agents. 

Robin has a sick expression of determination on his face as Alfred all but carries him back through the tunnels. Jason has to help at a couple of points where the ground is slippery or high or blocked. Touching Tim, seeing that cape and that colors, makes his skin crawl. “Which way did Batman go?” He asks Alfred roughly. If he can catch up...

“Batman is back on the surface,” Alfred admits. He looks so tired, like he's aged decades in the years Jason's been gone. He feels like he's never noticed it before this moment. “I am uncertain of how you got here, but I would ask you at least help me get the boy to medical attention. I fear I brought the manual and my grip is not going to be the best.”

“I heard Batman was injured,” Jason says, careful to keep any emotion out of his voice. And honestly he's not entirely certain of how he feels. “Trailing-”

“Yes.” Alfred cuts him off. “I was contacted as well but the injuries were not as severe as it initially appeared. The trail went cold.” He looks tired. Sympathetic. But he's loading Tim into the back of a car that Jason decides must be used for just such purposes. Wouldn't be the first time Alfred's been called to collect a bloody young man and take him home. “Master Jason. There will be plenty of time for you to go on the hunt but at the moment I do need your services.” 

He can never turn down a request from Alfred. Bizarre how that happens. Jason steps forward and helps him load Tim into the back, with maybe only a little more jarring of him than necessary. He doesn't throw up, or scream, and Jason gives him a few toughness points for that. Then Alfred is pointing toward the driver's side door, trying to talk him through it like he's never driven a car before. It's a need that drives him to have Jason volunteer. It's trust, because Jason could as easily drive them all off a bridge. 

As soon as the door closes and he starts to drive, he feels like he might have a panic attack. There's a constriction in his chest and he's broken out into a cold sweat. The scent of blood surrounds them in these tight quarters and he can feel the way Replacement is trembling with the effort to stay upright and aware. But Alfred needs him, Jason thinks. Alfred would be able to handle this without him but it's far easier to have another pair of hands. 

Alfred doesn't ask him to do anything. Alfred always had him holding things and fetching things when Bruce was seriously hurt. He'd caught an argument between the two of them once about it. Bruce insisting Jason needed to see him strong and not week or injured and Alfred arguing that Jason wasn't stupid. That he didn't require an untouchable paternal figure, only a solid one. 

Lots of things have been flickering back to him with the time he's spent to Dick. They never discuss it, not on purpose, but Dick lets things slip now and again that remind him of what life was like before he died. But then Jason will see something. A clown, a crowbar, a kid without a chance, and it all comes rushing back to him. But he drives in silence in the front with Alfred, and Tim lies in the back, wide-eyed and ghostly pale. 

"Pull some blood from the storage unit," Alfred orders him as soon as they step out of the car into the Cave. Jason barely remembers how they got there. He barely remembers how this car has clearance at all. It's not uncommon for him to miss chunks of time, but it's dangerous. Especially in a vehicle. "Put it to warm." And Jason obeys without thinking about it. Without thinking who it is for, other than Alfred. Alfred gets Robin to the table and begins stripping him down. Jason's gaze is caught by the scars, by the broken limbs, by the way his lips tremble as he bites into them and tries to hold back the sounds of pain. 

He's covered in blood, and it's the sight of that white skin that has Jason realizing that the costume has been stripped away. He's not in Robin and outside of Robin...Tim Drake looks like a kid. As much of a kid as he had that night he'd fallen asleep on Dick Grayson's couch. He looks vulnerable without it, like he should be in his fancy boarding school and kept safe.

Not that the Robin uniform protects him. Jason knows that first hand. 

Jason wants to leave. The cave is on lock down until the all clear is given. Alfred calls the doctor and fusses around Tim to get him stable. Jason lingers back, and thinks of all the things he could be doing with full access to the bat cave. Certainly if it were anyone but Alfred here, he would be trying for it. As it is he blends into the shadows and simply watches. He tries to enjoy the cries of pain as a joint is snapped into position or even the stern lecture that Tim gets from the doctor when she arrives. She doesn't see Jason; he makes sure she doesn't see that as he starts to plot his escape route out of the cave from the storage room nearby where he's taken up position sitting on an old ammunition trunk.

When the Imposter yelps again, Jason can't bask in his smugness. _He's a kid._ Jason remembers Dick saying. Remembers the exhausted, resigned indignation in his voice whenever Jason voiced wanting to hate Dick's new little brother. Over and over, like Dick was trying to make peace with it himself instead of convince Jason he wasn't a threat. _He's just a kid._

"Very much so," Alfred agrees from the doorway and that's when Jason realizes he's been lost in his head so much that he's been speaking out loud. "He is a child, much like Master Dick was a child when he first donned the costume." He pauses a moment. "Much like you were."

Jason snorts dismissively. "Not as much of a child as Replacement out there. I bet he mewls like a kitten over a scratch." With a bit of that old fire building again inside him. _He_ was better. _He_ had wanted it more. _He_ had barely made a sound when he had bones set or cuts stitched. 

"You were a younger child, even," Alfred replies, missing the point in that way he has an amazing knack for doing to get at the real issue. "Tougher on the exterior, that much is true. But so desperately eager to impress. The same way Master Timothy is so desperately trying to impress his brothers." 

"We're not," Jason snaps. "We're not brothers." Because that brings up something raw and furious and aching inside him. 

"Perhaps not," Alfred soothes. "But the boy looked up to you. He admires you still." 

Jason turns his face away. He doesn't want Alfred to see the ugly, hateful look that he's sure is on his face. He can feel his lips pulling back into a sneer. "I don't admire him. Kid can't even fight. You had to step in."

There's a wry expression on Alfred's face, from the glimpse Jason catches of it. "As you said, Master Jason, he is a child. Unconventional as your lifestyles may be, I would step in for any child." 

"You protected him," Jason protests weakly. 

Alfred softens. He reaches out and Jason doesn't stiffen. But the touch stays frozen. Alfred's knuckles are still raw and oozing blood. He hasn't taken care of himself. "As I would have protected you, had I been given the opportunity."

Jason feels a burn behind his eyes. He doesn't answer. He can't. He just stares at Alfred's hand on his shoulder. Which then makes him think of Alfred's injury. He's been hiding it well but... “Did the Doc work on your arm?”

Alfred shakes his head. “There were much more important matters. It will certainly keep. A ligament pull or something, I should think. An overextension. I will retrieve a sling.” But he hasn't done that yet. He's gone to see about Tim, and then about Jason. 

Jason stands to get a sling. Then he realizes he no longer knows where they are kept. Alfred shakes his head and guides him back down. 

“As I said. It will keep. It will keep much easier now that I am not lugging around another body.” He hesitates. “May I inquire as to where Master Dick is at this time?” Alfred asks when the silence stretches for too long. 

“What?” Jason asks bitterly. “Want to make certain I didn't leave him dead in a ditch somewhere?”

“That would hardly be your style.” Alfred frowns at him. “But I would be a fool not to notice Master Timothy sent a distress call to Nightwing and you have shown up instead. You also seem to have injuries you didn't obtain in your most recent fight.”

Fortunately, Jason is saved from having to answer. Unfortunately, his savior comes in the form of a bruised and battered Dick Grayson looking like a vengeful angel with the lights of the medical area shining behind him. “Fortunately,” Dick hisses. “Fortunately he just locked me in a bathroom, handcuffed me to a bathtub that puts the ones here to shame, and barricaded the door with antique furniture. After fist fighting me and knocking me unconscious.” 

Jason grimaces. “You got loose faster than I expected you to.” 

Dick flips him off. 

And that's it. It's like a switch has flicked inside his head. Jason can't even guess how he goes from sitting calmly with Alfred to launching himself across the room with every intent of beating Dick's pretty face in and then fucking him until he's a mewling, miserable, shivering wreck that can't even remember his own name, let alone Batman's. The mix of violence and sex in his head is heady, impossible to deny no matter how disturbing it is, even to him. The images in his mind's eye of what he can do to Dick, what he wants to do, are vivid and intense and they get him hard almost as much as they make him want to throw up. Want to pound the side of his head against something until he can't be a danger to any of them. 

It's maybe the first time he realizes he doesn't actually want to hurt Dick Grayson. Unfortunately, they're already entangled and in combat by the time the thought comes to him. Dick isn't fighting to kill but, after their last encounter, he's definitely fighting to win. Jason has the bulk and strength but Dick has a righteous, alley-cat kind of rage about him. 

“A fucking taser!” Dick shouts at him, swiping at Jason's face with his nails. He knows it's not super effective in disabling an attacker but it's going to mark him up and it hurts like a son of a bitch. Dick is going to be glad to leave marks. “Left me there! Couldn't help my baby brother! Couldn't help you!” He's furious. So enraged he's not seeing straight. He's forgetting to breathe. He's lashing out at Jason with all the rage and frustration of the last few months. The hurt that just when he'd thought he was making progress, Jason pulls this shit on him. 

He wraps his thighs around Jason's thick waist and flips him to the floor. He's punching before he realizes it. The connection of his knuckles to Jason's cheekbone is insanely satisfying. “I love you,” He hisses at him. “I love you, you fucking jackass.” His gloved hands tangle in Jason's hair. He lifts his head and slams his skull against the hard stone floor. “You ruined it! You ruined everything with what you fucking did!”

It's been so long since he's gotten this angry. He knows it makes him stupid. He knows his words are wrong, knows they are going to hurt far more than any of the blows he's dealing out and yet he doesn't care. He thinks about Jason's touch against him. About the expression on his face as he knocked Dick out cold. So he could what? Go kill his brother? Go ruin a family that would welcome him back? It makes him furious. It breaks him down. They had come so close, and Dick's never been one who likes to see the death of his dreams. 

“Didn't ask you to save me,” Jason snarls back. He bucks, hard enough to throw Dick up in the air but Dick clings fast. He's not being strategic in this fight; it's all about emotion. “Didn't ask you to get involved, Dick!” And Dick can count on one bloody hand the times that Jason has called him by his name since his resurrection. “You did it! You tracked me. You interfered!”

“You fucked me!” Dick shouts back. “You fucked me and made me think it meant something! That you cared about me. That you wanted to get better.” Where they are, the secrets he's spilling, the fact they have an audience, none of it is important. All Dick is feeling is betrayal, is grief at losing Jason all over again and being only a tool in the grand scheme of it all. Used to get close. “All I was to you was another path to getting your bullshit revenge.”

“Look around you,” Jason yells in return. He's finally managed to get Dick off of him, tossing him back and getting to his knees. “Look where we are, dipshit. Look at your precious baby brother still alive because I saved him. Look at you coming after me instead of saving your father because you're too petty and stupid to see a bigger picture. You think I'm selfish? I can't even hold a candle to what a selfish asshole you are.” He hauls himself to his feet and every line of his body is tense. Ready for Dick to attack him again. "Now I'm going to leave because I have some business to take care of. That isn't scratching someone's eyes out like a brain damaged, vindictive cat.”

It brings everything crashing back. Tim's call. The fact Dick had only made a quick check to see if Tim was alive. The fact that Bruce was still out there, injured, facing down one of his greatest enemies. It hadn't been him Dick went after; it had been Jason. He feels like a traitor. He feels like Bruce is right. He's thrown everything away for Jason. He's left sitting on the floor, aching and bleeding inside and out. 

“Don't follow me again,” Jason snarls. He turns and strides away. With confidence. He knows they won't lock down the Cave to keep him in. He knows a way out and he's taking it. 

Alfred approaches him with a bottle of water and kneels by his side. Dick feels suddenly guilty, both for making the man kneel and for having him bear witness to that scene. Jason has always been a soft point for him. And, Dick thinks, the future of his interaction with Jason might be once again short because Dick's blown this. “I have to follow him.” Dick says miserably. “I have to get to Bruce. Have to...make up for this.”

Alfred only nods like it's the most reasonable thing in the world as he cleans off his face to survey the full extent of his injuries. Dick's skin Is throbbing. His nerves are still raw and twitching from the electricity that had been forced through him. “I would note,” Alfred says softly “That Master Jason did not seek to murder young Master Timothy. He did not pursue Batman or the Joker when I required assistance. He aided me, the same as any other masked hero would.” He pauses. “Perhaps with a bit more lip, but the point remains the same. We are here and Timothy is alive, thanks to him.”

Dick isn't sure what to think of that, actually. “He punched me in the face. And tased me. And left me barricaded in a bathroom,” He reminds Alfred flatly. “Those aren't the actions of an innocent man.”

If anything, Alfred looks even more tired as he applies a few clear sterile strips to Dick's face to keep cuts from splitting open at any inopportune times. “I fear Master Jason was not even born innocent. Growing up the way he did and being indoctrinated in this life so young...it hardly makes for an innocent man. But it can make for a good one.” The antiseptic wipe scrapes over Dick's skin. “One who is frightened of what he is already and might become. One who is used to having things snatched away from him.” 

“I think you were a psychologist in another life,” Dick notes glumly. He feels like shit, and it's more than just physically. But Gotham doesn't wait for you to lick your wounds. He has a job to do. He has Batman to save. That has to be his first priority. Jason was at least right about that. “Can you hold down the fort?” He questions, standing to start to check his costume for all the necessities of going out in the field. He glances to the medical area, which no doubt had been secured the moment the shouts began. “How's Tim?”

“He will survive,” Alfred answers and Dick thinks he never hears more weariness in the butler's voice than in those three words. He's always pleased by it, of course, but it must be tiresome to have to say them so often. To have them put themselves in that amount of danger so frequently. “I'm afraid a transfusion is in order and with liver damage you often have to wait to see if a surgical intervention is practical.” 

Dick frowns. He wants to see Tim but he knows that will delay him even more. “Give the kid my best, alright? Tell him I'll be gently feeding him cream of wheat while he watches a movie. Only something g-rated though; wouldn't want to angry up his new blood.” Dick grins while Alfred rolls his eyes. His face only hurts a little bit and that makes him realize the wipes probably had something for pain relief in them. Bless Alfred. “Bruce would've come if he knew how hurt Tim was,” He adds. “He wouldn't have just left him.” 

Alfred only smiles tiredly and pats his hand. “I believe I am not the one you are convincing, Master Dick. Will you be taking a car or the motorcycle?”

~*~*~

As Dick searches, he imagines finding a hundred terrible things. He imagines finding Bruce dead at the hands of the Joker. He imagines him dead at Jason's feet. He sees Jason beaten to a pulp all over again and he knows, horrifyingly, that the Joker dead is the best outcome he can hope for. It's a job he wishes now that he finished, because he could have prevented all of this. It's not a thought he's used to having. 

Find Bruce. Find Jason. Easier said than done with his head pounding and his nerves still a little shot from the volts of electricity Jason had sent through his body, or the head injuries he'd dealt him. Remember what he has. Tim, out of danger in the cave. Alfred, safely bandaged and waiting on him to do his job. The job he's been doing since he was far too young for it. 

He finds Bruce and Jason, because they're in the same place. It's not far from Gotham's city limits, on the roof of a building that Dick knows used to be a library even though that was rather before his time. He has moments to assess the situation. Jason has his domino on, but not the helmet. Jason also has a hostage; a man probably in his 40s, largely bloodied but standing under his own power with Jason's arm locked around his throat. Not the Joker. Jason has a gun to his head. Bruce has a batarang in his hand. 

He sees Bruce's fingers twitch, subtly, signaling him to stay back. Bruce is, as always, ever aware of his presence even when Dick wasn't want him to be. He obeys the command, guiltily, because part of him doesn't want to get involved. He's too angry at Jason, too frustrated at himself and how this entire situation had turned out. How stupid he'd been. How fucking _dumb_ to believe he could solve any problem the great and powerful Batman couldn't. Now, as he takes up position behind a statue on the roofline of the neighboring building, he has his ineptitude acted out in this macabre play entirely for him. 

"What did you think would happen, Batman?" Jason yells across the roof. "Did you think you'd give it a few years and forget? That none of this would matter? That I didn't matter?"

"Of course you mattered!" Bruce replies. Dick can see his fingers clench into a fist; a sure sign that Bruce is emotionally wrought and can't show it. "You still matter now," He repeats. It's a stupid thing, Dick thinks, but this is the worst time to have a conversation. On a public, unsecured roof. With a stranger close enough to hear every word. "What happened to you changed everything." 

Jason laughs and it's an ugly, harsh laugh. Dick can see the whites of the eyes of the hostage as the arm is tightened around his neck. "Did it? You've got another kid in tights. Did you have him on standby when I finally screwed up enough for you to fire me? For it to get me killed. _Did you want this?_ ” His voice is broken, but still demanding. 

“No!” Bruce screams. Actually screams. The timbre of the Batman voice is still present but it's choked with emotion. “You were my son, Jason. I never wanted anything to hurt you. I wanted to have you back. I wanted-” 

“You have me back,” Jason says with a shake of his head. His finger squeezes the trigger of the gun just a little. The man in his arm squirms and kicks, seeming to realize his captor has a thread's grip on sanity and it's quickly unwinding. “You could have had me back and you treat me like a rabid dog instead. You try to put me on a leash.”

Bruce seems at a loss. Or maybe, Dick thinks, he himself is at a loss and is pushing the feeling onto Bruce. Bruce always knows what to do and even if sometimes it's not the right thing, it's always _something_. He never comes up empty. “You were better without me,” Bruce murmurs. “Nightwing said-”

“This isn't about Nightwing!” Jason snarls and Dick flinches, even in his hiding place. He thinks, for a split second, that Jason knows he's there. “This isn't fucking about him,” Jason repeats. “Your golden child. Your perfect son. The one I could never live up to. But of course you'd take his word over mine, wouldn't you?” The bitterness in his tone is almost tangible in the air. Dick's heart pounds in his chest. It aches at this, at his name being thrown at Jason and then back to Bruce. 

“It isn't that way,” Bruce insists “We can talk about this, Jason. I want you to come home. Just let the man go.” 

“You know what he did?” Jason questions and makes an ugly little noise in his throat. “He helps the Joker. He lures people to him. Kids. Just like me.” The guy looks positively frantic now and Dick doesn't blame him. He's also, guiltily, glad of his terror. He's seen what happens to kids lured close for the Joker's errands. Jason Todd wasn't the last. 

“I want you back, Jason.” Bruce is still being cautious, quiet even. 

But Jason scoffs. “You have a Replacement for me. You have a Golden Child.” 

“You are both my sons.” Bruce takes a step toward Jason, then another. Dick thinks he's about to rush him. 

Apparently, Jason thinks the same, because he shoots. The hostage screams and blood sprays out. Bruce lurches forward, to grab Jason or the gun Dick can't tell, and Jason lets the body fall off the building. Batman? He doesn't dive after it. He runs after Jason and Dick swears colorfully as he shoots a line and swan dives to try to catch what is more than likely already a corpse. His mind is a swirl of emotions, of colors, enough that he feels like his body isn't the only thing in free fall. Jason had killed. Jason promised not to kill. Jason had done so facing Bruce down. Bruce hadn't backed away. Bruce had stood there and let Dick watch and Dick had just _hidden_ like a _coward_.

Worst of all, Batman hadn't saved the day. Bruce had gone after Jason. Bruce hadn't jumped after Jason's newest victim. 

Nightwing snags the body from mid air, grunting at the sudden weight against him. He coasts to the ground less than gracefully, too scattered to do much but heave the body down off his shoulder. There's blood. A lot of blood. It's warm and fresh and it soaks into his costume and gets on the side of his face in pulsing waves. 

Pulsing. Dick frowns as he kneels by the body, startled to see the rise and fall of the chest. He's familiar with corpses moving, probably too familiar with it actually, but this one seems to be breathing. _Alive_ , his mind supplies but he doesn't believe it. He examines the bullet wound. Half the guy's face is damaged. His ear has been blown clean (well, messily) off. There's damage to his temple and the side of his face and he's definitely not going to win any beauty pageants. He's maimed. But he's _alive_ and Jason wouldn't miss accidentally at so close a range. Which means Jason wanted him to live. 

Dick doesn't know what to feel. Elation. Panic that Bruce and Jason are headed for another showdown Jason doesn't deserve. A sinking dread that, no matter what, things can never be the way they were. He still feels hurt, absolutely betrayed, because now his body bears marks of Jason's passion and his rage. 

He whips out a field dressing, and contacts Bruce. 

~*~*~

 _Stupid_. Jason chides himself as he runs over the rooftops. He's in great shape. Bruce is in better. Jason's almost as big as his pursuer, and he hasn't been in his bulk as long as Bruce has. He hasn't trained and conditioned himself to it. 

If he was in Crime Alley, this would be no problem. But this part of Gotham has changed in the years he's been gone. In the years since he was Robin, and was running at the Batman's side instead of running from him. Not fleeing. Jason wants that known. It's a strategic move to back away from this. Time to face down the man himself and Jason hadn't known what to say when it came down to it. How ridiculous. How pathetic. Maybe Talia had been right in sending those ninjas. 

He stumbles. It loses him vital seconds and Bruce is on him nearly instantly, throwing him to his front hard enough that Jason swears he feels a rib crack. “What about your other kid, Bruce?” Jason demands. There's no one around to hear them, here. “Did you even check to see if he's alive? Do you even give a shit what happened to him because he was worried about you?”

It buys him maybe a half second of hesitation. Enough that he can get fingers into his jacket as Bruce slams his head against the shingling of the roof. If it wasn't dark already, Jason would certainly be seeing spots. “Think I'm bluffing?” Jason asks around a mouth filling with blood. He's opened another wound in his jaw. “Is my Replacement that much better than me? That he never gets hurt? That he'll never get killed?”

With the way Bruce hits him this time, Jason knows he's struck a nerve. He knows that Tim Drake isn't the best just yet. He has heart, he has training, but so had Jason and that hadn't been enough to save him. Bruce knows it. And Jason knows things are the exact opposite of what he's said. Bruce is worried he might kill another Robin and he should be, as far as Jason is concerned. 

It might frighten Jason a little in his right mind if he really thought about this. Thought about Bruce losing his cool. About Bruce chasing him instead of retrieving a hostage, even a dead one. Instead Bruce has come for him. Bruce has pursued vengeance. He might be proud.

“You came into my city,” Batman snarls in that voice Jason hates so much. The one that wipes any trace of humanity from his voice. “You kill in my city. Why are you back, Jason?”

He chuckles bitterly. “I've been asking myself the same fucking question every day, B. Because I'd much rather have stayed buried. I don't remember a lot about those early days, but I know that part fucking sucked.” 

He's shocked Bruce. The hand in his hair tightens momentarily. Jason has some pellets in his hand that are going to maybe burn him a little but will startle Bruce enough to loosen his grip. He's about to throw them when the communication system crackles to life. Jason only knows because he's tapped into it. 

“Need assistance, B,” Nightwing says. Dick says. Jason's heart does funny things when he hears his voice, and not just because a broken rib might be poking it. “Called for an ambulance but I can't get the bleeding to stop.” 

Batman stares down at him. Jason smirks. This is actually a better reveal than he was hoping for. “Repeat,” He says simply. 

“Secured the hostage. He's alive, but he won't be for long if I can't get this hole in his face to stop gushing on me. Didn't bring my medical supply.” Nightwing sounds a little embarrassed at that and he probably should for the proper reaming that would normally get him. 

“Alive,” Batman says slowly like Nightwing wouldn't know what that word means. 

“Not conscious, but totally alive,” Dick confirms. Jason's smug, shit-eating grin grows. He fingers the smoke pellets. He contemplates how badly he'd hurt himself setting them off to purposefully burn Bruce. “Still need your help ASAP, B.” 

Bruce lets him go. Jason knows he's finding some restraints, hoping they'll hold Jason long enough that he can return for him. Fat chance of that. “It's not your city, old man,” Jason murmurs. “And Bludhaven sure as fuck wasn't but you couldn't keep your nose out of that either.” 

“What do you want with Nightwing?” Bruce demands, back to that growling voice that is almost ridiculous. “Why have you been pursuing him?”

It has no right to make Jason as angry as it does. He's electrocuted Dick, and punched him, and left him chained up. He's not good for Dick. He's not even sure that his plan all along wasn't to use him. It still make rage flare bright and hot across his vision. He swings for Bruce. It doesn't connect. “Did you ever think I might not care?” He snaps back. Laughter bubbles up like water in the Lazarus Pit. “Of course not. I'm the rabid dog you brought home once, not your son.” 

“Batman!” Dick's voice is almost desperate now. Jason swears he sees a moment of hesitation and a flash of indecision. He takes the opportunity. The pellet burns his hand even through his glove as he activates it. Bruce reels back from the smoke and the bright light and Jason kicks him the rest of the way off. 

It's not like him to use his rage to power a flight rather than a fight. Dick's voice is still ringing in his ears as he goes. 

~*~*~

He's heard before that betrayal is the hardest wound to heal. He's not sure where he heard it; it's lodged somewhere deep in his memory. If someone told it to him he kind of wants to thank them, because it's true, and also punch them in the face because he hates knowing it. Bruises fade from his face and body. His concussion mends. Even the teeth marks on his shoulder disappear, much like the man who left them there has. 

Bruce's searches for Jason have turned up nothing. Dick's searches likewise have come up empty. Jason has disappeared, as though he never was. Once again the only mark of him left is a glass case and a costume from a boy who died years ago. 

Tim heals well. He's back on his feet before he should be, hiding his injury and trying to make attempts at a normal life. They aren't extremely passable and Dick feels for the kid. It's another misery to run through his head when Dick does a sweep of whichever city he's in, convincing himself he's looking for crime and not for Jason. He tries to talk to Tim more, tries to repair that fractured relationship, because Jason might not have killed but he certainly destroyed a lot of things that night. 

The fact that he hadn't killed the man, only maimed him, is still a mystery to Dick. He thinks sometimes he got through to Jason. Other times he thinks it's all another game Jason is playing with his head. 

"Alfred told Bruce that he saved my life," Tim complains during one of their calls, when Dick is standing in his kitchen with his face pressed against the cool metal of his refrigerator as he tries to find the willpower to open it up and get something to eat. "And you know what he said? That it was Jason's fault it was in danger in the first place!"

Dick tries to muster up enough energy to care. He wishes he'd had a brother to talk to when he was fighting with Bruce. Barbara had gotten the brunt of most of his rants. And, Dick thinks, it was almost entirely Bruce's fault that Tim was in danger, not Jason's. Wasn't it? "How did he put you in danger?"

"It wasn't the Joker's thugs who cornered me. I'd already taken care of them. League of Assassins, and B is _not_ happy about it." Tim sounds so defiant, so flippant, that for a moment Dick remembers Jason at this age. It was rare they had many conversations, but he does recall this tone. This 'dad is being unreasonable' tone that none of them ever realize they have until well after the fact. 

He doesn't know if Jason has had the revelation that Bruce may as well be his dad. He doesn't know what happened between the two of them before he got there, or after Jason ran off. Whatever it is, Bruce is a man haunted all over again. Dick knows better than to ask, but Tim hasn't learned the lesson yet and is feeling hurt and pushed away. But assassins. Had Jason sent them? Had he been working with them? Probably not the second since he left some of them with near fatal injuries. He wonders how Bruce can possibly blame Jason for that. He wants to yell about it. Wants to rant to Tim about how unfair it is for Bruce to do this. How he would have had everything under control and Jason would have stayed if only Bruce had stayed the hell out of his business. 

"Bruce cares about you," Dick says instead, and he wonders if this is what being the bigger person is. If so, it feels pretty rotten. "I know he's overbearing and kind of a jackass right now but he'll calm down. He's just worried." It feels weird, taking up for Bruce. He's furious with him. He firmly believes he could have done better by Jason than Bruce did. But Tim doesn't need to be conflicted. Tim needs stability. Tim needs to work through his issues with Bruce without outside influence, and Dick doesn't envy him that lesson. 

"I hope Jason comes back," Tim says at last. "I know he hates me and everything but...this is where he belongs, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dick breathes and ignores that painful thing his heart is doing in his chest. "It is. I hope he comes back, too." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Jason's confrontation with Bruce, he makes contact with Dick. Dick tracks him down with every intent of bringing him home to stay. 
> 
> ...but is that what's best for Jason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the last chapter! It's bittersweet for me because I never imagined when I posed my silly smut prompt that it would turn into this series. Thank you for all your reviews (especially those of you who left such in depth ones) and they really inspired this to turn into what it is. 
> 
> There will probably be some side stories and maybe a much later continuation. I still had kinks and events on the list that didn't make it into this series that I'd love to use! So if you ever want to make a suggestion or collaborate or even do a side thing of your own...I'm more than game to discuss <3 
> 
> Please note the rating has turned to explicit and the tags have changed. If anyone needs some strange background music, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGGxQKXQsKQ) was on as I wrote the ending.

Patrol is oddly lonely without Jason as weeks stretch into months. Tim has the theory that Jason has left Gotham and Bludhaven both, and Dick has to believe that's true. He hopes Jason is alright, wherever he is. Hoping for Jason to be happy feels like too much to ask for. He replays that last night with Jason over and over again. He wakes up in a cold sweat at the expression of regret on Jason's face right as he knocked him unconscious. 

Ultimately neither of them got what they wanted. Jason hadn't killed the Joker and Dick hadn't saved Jason. They are both losers, and Dick has invested over a year of his life into finding this out. 

Which is, maybe, how he almost misses it. He's on his last run through the city and he hits the roof where he'd been snagged months before. He checks it regularly for snares now, but he refuses to stop using it as a launching point. It might be personal defiance or it might be idiocy. He lands on one end of it and begins running, out of the corner of his eye seeing something dangling from a string. Around the same place the snare had gotten his ankle. 

He slides to a halt, falling a bit and turning that into a handspring so it looks intentional. Just in case. He's cautious as he approaches, but all it appears to be is a piece of reflective paper on a string. The light it caught as it spun in the breeze had gained his attention. There's a storm blowing in; he's lucky he found it before the rain ruined it.

**Don't rely on dumb luck and your good looks to lead you to me.** Written on the paper in ink that was maybe black. Dick wonders how long it's been out here. There's a number written below the words and Dick glances up quickly. No one. No one watching. No one lying in wait to do him harm. At least, not on this roof top. 

He knows the words, even after this time. He remembers the pleasant ache as he limped back home. He remembers the feeling of confused elation that soared through him even when he crashed onto his bed. That he and Jason had _connected_. 

It could be a trap. Set by Jason or otherwise. But it's only a phone number. He debates the merits of it all the way back to his apartment. If he should call and what he'll say. Why Jason hasn't announced his presence if he was in Bludhaven to place the note in the first place. If the note was even intended for him at all, though who else would it belong to? 

He sits on the edge of his bed. He checks in with Alfred to let him know he's turning in for the night as he hears the first patters of rain against his window. Then he stares at a slip of paper that opens up old wounds. Jason's always hidden. Jason's always run from what he's done and the chaos it's caused. Could he be trying to reach out?

Ultimately, Dick decides that he has more to lose by refusing to call instead of by calling. He questions calling at this time of the morning, but he doesn't even have any guarantees that Jason is still in this timezone. 

The phone rings three times. Dick feels a little dizzy from holding his breath. Stupid. This was stupid. Why would he call? It's someone playing games with him. Or someone who didn't expect Nightwing on their roof and couldn't more people than him have dumb luck and good looks?

"Hello." And that's Jason. Definitely Jason. Dick's heart hammers in his chest and he might pass out. "Take a breath, dumb shit. You'd think Goldie would be a little smarter instead of just shiny." 

Dick breathes. Noisily. "I wasn't sure it would be you." 

"Wishful thinking?" Jason counters. "Then you could write me off forever?"

"No," Dick protests. "No. Never. I would never write you off." It's not bad as far as openings to this conversation go. Even if the silence stretches on for a full minute. Neither of them want to talk it out. Neither of them want to risk ruining this fragile thread of contact. "Are you alright?" Dick asks at last. "Are you safe?"

Jason snorts. "Are any of us ever safe in this business? I'm fine." Dick wants him to mean it. Alfred has been tight lipped on if Jason's contacted him at all and certainly Jason's therapist wouldn't tell them, but Dick had been rather hopeful that it meant Jason was in contact with both of them. "So," Jason says, startling him. "What are you wearing? It's after patrol for you, right? You stripped down yet?"

Dick looks down at himself automatically before his brain catches up and he laughs. "That's your first question for me? What I'm wearing?"

"I'm a man of simple tastes," Jason replies. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to." An out, all over again. He can continue the teasing as though it's all a joke. He can take a different step. He can reach out. 

Dick's never let someone fall, when they've reached arms out for him to catch them. It's a rule on the trapeze. He tries to follow it here, and Jason is his flyer. "I'm still in my suit," Dick answers. "It's down to my waist, though."

"Oh? Did you hurt yourself?" Dick isn't sure if that's amusement or concern in Jason's tone. 

"Cut my shoulder jumping a fence after someone." The admission to Jason comes easily. Much more easily than it would have to Bruce. Maybe it's because Jason does see him for his flaws. He doesn't have to pretend to be perfect for him when Jason loves seeing him brought down. "Nothing major. Stuck a bandage over it. No need for stitches, even." 

"Your grace is failing you," Jason responds with a chuckle. "But at least it wasn't serious." 

Dick feels a little warm that Jason cares at all, even if it's after he's insulted him. "I'm going to take off the rest of the suit," Dick narrates for him. He stands up and pushes the fabric over his hips and down his thighs. He goes slowly, like Jason can see him. 

"Just a jock then?" Jason questions languidly. 

"Yeah. Cup too, does that count?” He's already drawing it out, tossing it to the side with the rest of his equipment to wash and repair later. 

“Gotta protect the package,” Jason agrees. “And you can touch yourself this way, can't you? Right through the jock? Is it that high-cut bullshit you still like?”

He prefers jocks closer to a dancer's belt, it's true. Jason has mocked him about them enough but it's far more comfortable for him; they're the same kind he wears for trapeze work, sans the cup. “It's comfortable.” And his fingers, traitorous thing that they are, slide over the front of the slick fabric. He can touch himself indeed. 

“Well, get even more comfortable,” Jason orders. “Back on your bed? In that stack of pillows you use instead of bothering to actually sit up?” 

Each detail is so perfect. Jason has a good memory. Dick wonders how long he's been thinking about this. The thought has him shivering as he arranges himself on the pillows. He's still palming himself through the fabric, and finally he starts to push it off his hips. He doesn't want to form this association with this undergarment; he uses it too often for normal things that don't require or approve of an erection. 

“How are you looking, Dickiebird?” Jason croons to him. “Have you kept in prime condition? Earned a few new scars?” 

Dick purses his lips and looks down at himself. “It's...the same. Nothing new.” Not since that night. He's maintained physical conditioning. If anything, it's perhaps a little leaner. He's been running himself more ragged and hasn't been feeding himself as much as he should to replace the expended calories. 

“Are you hard?” Jason questions. 

Dick thinks about lying. He doubts he can pull it off successfully. “Yeah, some.” He's not in full, raging erection territory but he's quickly getting there between his hand and, damn it, Jason's voice. 

“I'm hard,” Jason offers. “You know how I like to ask you if you're sitting there with your dick in your hand? Well, that's what I'm doing.” And Dick almost groans at the image that invokes. It's so vivid, and he wants so much for Jason to be sitting across the room from him. He knows logically that if that were the case they never would have gotten so far without coming to blows all over again, but he can still wish, can create that ideal world in his head that keeps him sane. “Stroke yourself for me. Tell me how it feels.” 

Dick shivers. “You know how it feels. Hard and...like skin...” He's not sure when he lost his gift for gab. Maybe that's what happens when there's no blood in his brain; he babbles like an idiot or he finds it impossible to speak. “A little intense.” 

“Been a while? There must have been at least some time for a quickie in between saving the world and keeping dear old daddy off your trail.” There's the venom Dick's come to expect. It's somehow reassuring. 

It hasn't been that long. Dick's an expert at quick jerk offs in the shower. He hasn't had the time or felt the need for any sexual entanglement with another person, so maybe he's deprived of that. Touch from another person, more than sexual satisfaction. He doesn't answer in words. He lets his eyes fall shut and simply touches himself. It doesn't take much to work him to full hardness. Even with Jason far away from him, his voice does the job. 

“Did I ruin you for anyone else? Make you worship at my altar so many times you're afraid to go back?” It's arrogant. Disgustingly so. Dick knows Jason talks a good game, hides his raging insecurity. That he feels comfortable saying this is warming. “I like that you fit me like a glove.” Jason gives a shuddering sigh and Dick imagines him. Pants undone, that thick cock in his hand. Dick aches for it in a shameful, desperate way. He wants it inside him. In his mouth. Anywhere, because he's missed Jason but he's especially missed that part.

It's when he hears Jason laugh that he realizes he said some of it out loud. He can't even find it in himself to be ashamed, because he's thought himself up, built himself to a place where they've connected once again. Not physically, not exactly, but something close to it. “I missed you,” Dick confesses and he doesn't care how awkward it is. Not when he's pumping up into his own fist. “I did. For more than this. For everything.”

“Don't get sappy on me,” Jason snaps. “You're pathetic if you get yourself off and cry on the phone. I only want you to do the first part. Stroke yourself off. Can you even come without something in your ass anymore?”

Dick whines a protest. He totally can. “You wouldn't have to worry about it if I was there,” Jason whispers. “You've got a great ass on you, Goldie. But you know that. You love having me grab it. Slap it. Fuck you while I bruise you.” He can hear the wet noise of Jason's cock in his hand. He should have thought to grab lube; it's almost a little painful for him. He pauses, licks his hand a few times, and continues. There might be a blush on his face that wasn't there before, but there's no one here to judge him. The slickness help. Dick can already feel his balls tightening and his stomach coiling. He can imagine it. Imagine Jason being here. 

“I'd even let you kiss me,” Jason continues. “Wet and messy and romantic before I bit you. Before I made you scream so much you couldn't breathe. I love it when you clench around me. When you get so tight I can barely move inside you.”

“Fuck,” Dick whispers. “Fuck, Jason.” A prayer to a recently re-discovered god. He's never gotten off this easy, or this fast, or this good with just his own hand. It's been barely ten minutes. It's not right. It's not natural. He doesn't almost blow his load at the thought of kissing. “I'm close. I'm so close.” 

“Not yet,” Jason orders and he still holds such sway over him. “You have to tell me about it first. Tell me how much you want it.” 

That's something easy. Something he can do. Jason's not being unreasonable, his mind reassures him. “Please.” His cock is hard and slick in his palm. The fingers of his opposite hand are running over the rest of him, tweaking a nipple, tugging at his balls, providing a counterpoint to the maddening sensation. “I wish it were you. Wish you were fucking me, stroking me, getting me off. Whichever way you wanted. I'd come. For you. All over you.” The earlier reluctance is gone, replaced with his mouth running away with him. The familiar. 

Jason groans. It's deep, even through the phone. There's nothing for the moment, only the sounds of their mutual fucking .Dick's starting to grow desperate. Frantic. Maybe he didn't beg good enough?

“Take a picture,” Jason hisses out. “After you do it. I want to see it.” He waits a moment. A few, agonizing seconds. “You can do it now, Dickie. Let me hear you.” 

Dick's pretty sure the neighbors hear him. Superman probably hears him. The cry he gives is loud and raw as he arches and strains and, finally, comes into his hand. He draws it out until he's wrung dry, until his thighs are twitching and he feels weak and exhausted. “You?” He asks. 

Jason grunts. He hasn't gotten off yet. Dick tries to get his brain cells functional enough. He remembers the photo then. The request. “Hold on,” He rasps, fumbling to turn his phone to camera mode. It's hard with one hand, but he manages a picture. His still partially hard length in his hand and white sticky over his fingers. He sends it. He can hear the little beep Jason's phone makes, followed by a groan as he sees it. 

“Want you to come,” Dick whispers. “Better if it was on my face. Then you could have a picture of that.” And he knows when Jason spills, knows that momentary hitch in his breath. He feels elated. Proud. It's sick in a way, because even saving lives as Nightwing doesn't bring him quite this level of satisfaction. One man shouldn't matter so much. 

But it does. He does. Dick finds that he doesn't want to hang up the phone. He's afraid Jason will, even as he cleans himself up and listens to the breaths on the other end of the phone. “Don't hang up,” He requests, and hopes it doesn't sound too much like begging. “I want to talk to you. I want to talk about what happened.” 

Jason doesn't turn him down. Maybe his orgasm put him in a good mood. Maybe he's feeling as unsettled as Dick is by how things played out. The storm outside is his accompaniment as he talks to Jason. He rages at him. He yells, even. Jason, for his part, talks back. Rants back. He does some yelling of his own and even hangs up a few times, but he always calls back. 

It's hours before they sort it out. Dick's voice is hoarse. Jason sounds exhausted. But, somewhere, they've met in the middle. They've survived this fight. “Same time tomorrow?” Dick asks and it sounds like a joke but he's desperately, desperately hoping Jason will agree. 

There's hesitation. His heart sinks. Dick can hear the silence in his answer, and behind that, the rush of rain. “I'll let you know where I land, Dickie.” The line goes dead. 

Dick goes to bed miserable, until he realizes there's the same sound of rain outside his own window. 

~*~*~

The idea hits him like a ton of bricks a few days later, and he feels like an idiot for not considering it sooner. He's decided Jason is in Bludhaven, or somewhere close by. He also knows that Jason is planning to move on soon. What he's waiting for thus far is unclear. Perhaps Dick already missed his opportunity. 

He'd checked Jason's safehouses a few times before. Always with an eye to see if they'd been inhabited but ultimately thinking Jason wouldn't be so sloppy as to return to any of them. But something draws Dick back to the abandoned house, back to the place he'd tracked Jason to in the first place. He has to disable a few alarms, which lends credit to the idea that Jason is here, or was here recently; Dick didn't set them the same way when he last left. 

Walking into the main space Jason uses, Dick finds two duffle bags on the floor. One is stuffed full of something soft - clothes probably - with a few hard edges like for books. The other is only partially packed. There's no way even the scant amount of personal things Jason has accumulated is going to fit in the two bags. But that's a difference between them; Dick doesn't want to leave things behind. He has trouble with wanting to cling to every physical item and surround himself with the familiar. Dick might not have thought to purchase more than two sets of sheets, but he still has his keepsakes. The pillowcase his head had been on when he first slept with Barbara. A fraying rope bracelet he'd made as a kid (Bruce and Alfred had been given a matching set by his over-eager twelve year old self). He even has a bottle cap from a drink that Tim brought over the first time they tried to hang out. It's all useless junk. They're still his treasures.

Jason seems able to par it down. Dick wonders if that's because he never really had anything growing up or if he's just less sentimental. Their childhoods have certainly done a number on them both in very different ways. Dick knows his was far better; he can think back fondly to his parents, to his life. He tries not to think of the differences in Jason's upbringing. 

The room is quiet. Tidy. Dick frowns a bit, ready to think Jason's abandoned the place at least for the hour until he realizes the sound he's hearing isn't the rain outside but the rush of the shower in the bathroom nearby. 

Jason isn't stupid. He has to know Dick would eventually come back here. Which leaves Dick to wait. He toes out of his water-logged boots and stands in front of a vent blowing warm air. He didn't get too soaked outside, fortunately. He doesn't want to face Jason for the first time in so long shivering or naked. Except he kind of does. 

It's five minutes before Jason emerges from the bathroom. Five minutes of torture for Dick, who has rehearsed a million times in his head what he is going to say to Jason and now absolutely can't find the words. They all flee his head as soon as Jason enters, toweling his hair dry, wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants and nothing else. 

Dick hugs him. He wasn't planning to do so. He's still kind of mad at Jason. But his body moves out of his control and he's wrapping himself around Jason before either of them can stop it. He breathes in his scent, the warmth of the shower and smell of his soap. 

"Freak," Jason mutters at him, but one arm goes around his waist. It squeezes, just for a moment, and Dick believes in those few seconds that everything might be okay. But then Jason pushes him away, heading into the small kitchen area to grab a bottle of water for himself. "Here to chase me out? I told you I was leaving." 

"No," Dick protests. "I'm here to try to get you to stay." 

The look Jason gives him breaks his heart. Skeptical. Disbelieving. "You've done just fine when I took an adventure away. If nothing else it convinced me some time away from Bludhaven would be good. Time away from Gotham, too." 

Jason's calmer than the last time Dick had seen him. But a hurricane would be calmer than Jason was that night. "I want you to stay." 

"Contrary to popular belief, you don't always get what you want. Not even your pampered little ass." Jason takes a long swallow from the bottle of water, looking him over. "I'd say you look like a drowned rat but that's an insult to rats." 

And Dick had just been thinking how dry he managed to stay. "The rain is supposed to stop Thursday." 

"Figures. I came to this shit hole in the rain and I'm going to leave when it's raining." Jason shrugs and leans against the kitchen cabinets. "You want anything? I'd say that what you've come for won't take long but you have this way of talking." 

"I'm charming," Dick protests, but it's half hearted. "Look. What you did...that shit wasn't okay. It wasn't okay to do that to me. You really hurt me, Jason, and not just physically." He's been working out this statement forever. He's been countering mentally every argument that Jason might make about how he deserved it or how he should be smarter or better or less sensitive. 

"I know," Jason says instead."I know it wasn't okay. I know it hurt you." 

It's not an apology, but it still takes Dick by surprise. He flounders for a moment. "You saved Tim, though. You didn't kill the guy on the roof. You didn't kill _anyone_." 

"I'm aware." Jason's fingers clench. The water bottle crackles and folds a little in his hold. "I didn't find who I wanted." 

Dick doesn't know what to say beyond that. He shrugs out of his damp jacket, so apparently he's already decided he's going to stay until this is all settled. He might be here for years. "Still," Dick protests. He tries to keep his voice soft. "You didn't kill, Jason. I don't know what happened between you and Bruce but-"

The water bottle explodes. Or rather Jason crushes it enough that water explodes out the top of it. "I don't want to talk about him," Jason says flatly. "I'll talk to you. And I'll talk about what I did to you. Nothing else. No one else." He drops the towel from his hair to the floor, starting to mop up the water. 

Dick just watches. He's exhausted. They've hashed most of their problems out over the phone. Seeing Jason, he'd thought his anger would come rushing back. He thought he would get some kind of comfort. He thought Jason would rage or argue against him. There's none of that. "You're really going?" Dick asks. "Where?"

Jason shrugs and looks away. He moves to run water into an electric kettle. He must be a little more relaxed if he's making tea. "I'm really going, Dickface. I'm not sure where, but I've always liked to travel." And that much is true, at least. "Are you going to miss me?" He teases.

Dick doesn't even have to think up a witty answer to that. "Yes," He confirms. Why?" He edges closer. Jason seems at ease. Relaxed. Exactly the opposite of what Dick expected and Dick almost wonders if he's been experimenting with drugs again. "Why are you leaving?"

Jason sighs heavily. He looks exhausted. Worn down. He gets mugs from the cabinet and sets them on the countertop. "Gotham is home. Has been home. But there's nothing for me right now. I need to get away. I'm _better_ when I'm away from it. When things aren't slapping me in the face constantly." 

It makes a kind of sense. Dick doesn't miss the fact that he's made almost the same argument against Bruce for Jason staying in Bludhaven over Gotham. "Out of sight out of mind?"

There's a purse of his lips. Dick drapes his damp coat over a chair. He takes off his socks to follow. Stripping down to what's comfortable, to match Jason, because it feels so unusual that Jason would have fewer clothes on than he would. It feels wrong. "I think about it every night," Jason murmurs. It sounds intimate. With the tensing of Jason's muscles, Dick doesn't have to ask to confirm that 'it' is his death. "No matter where I am, I relive it. I think of ways to save me. I act them out. So it's never out of my mind, no." He's looking anywhere but at Dick. "But it's easier to pretend, other places. I'm never going to be normal and fuck if I want that, but I don't want to go down the burnout road the old man has gone down. I want a chance." 

It's also something Dick is intimately familiar with. Not wanting to be Bruce. Not wanting to live in a shadow of something else that happened. The kettle whistles and Dick moves to pour the boiling water in both mugs while Jason selects a tea. He knows Dick's preferences by now. Dick's heart aches a little to think that this is the last time they'll do this together. "I want you to have the chance," He says at last. "I want you to stay, Little Wing. More than anything, I want to see you and talk to you and touch you. But...I want what you need more than what I want." 

There are tears burning his eyes. He clenches his jaw and wills them away, but he's tired and this is important. This isn't some puppy in a gutter or adorable baby. This is _Jason_ and Jason is a lot of things to him. He's losing him. 

"Shit," Jason swears at him. "Don't do that. Don't cry. It makes me want to punch you in your stupid face, you asshole." He savagely tears open a sugar packet and dumps it into Dick's tea. "I don't have any milk." 

Dick blinks countless times. He thinks of boring society functions where he has to fake a smile. He thinks of doing taxes. Anything mundane. Anything that numbs him. "That's okay," He replies as he accepts the cup. "Really. It's...all okay. Not what I want but like you said, I can't have that." 

"It's really better this way for a while. For me. For everyone." Jason prepares his own cup of tea and they are quiet for a while. Jason turns on the news on television. Dick strips down to briefs and an undershirt and lays his clothing out to dry somewhat. It's companionable and it's grief-stricken. Dick wants to talk him out of it. He knows better. And he can see Jason is on the verge of reconsidering. 

The tea is gone by the time Jason rests a hand on his thigh, but Dick doesn't know how much time has passed. They're sitting on the couch and Jason slowly lifts his arm, pulling Dick underneath it. They stare at the television, at some advertisement for a car title loan, but Dick curls into Jason and Jason combs fingers through his hair and for a moment Dick can forget the shit they've been through lately. The kiss, when it comes, is a little uncertain. Jason's mouth tastes like the alcohol he put in his tea, and Dick responds by devouring it. He licks the taste out, he crawls onto Jason's lap like he wants to consume him whole. 

He's allowed to straddle the larger man, pressing against him needily as they kiss. Jason rocks his hips up against him, curling a large hand around his waist and Dick shivers. This is what he thinks of, when he thinks of touch. This is what he craves. This is what no one else has been able to give him. "I'm going to miss you," Dick whispers against his lips, puffing out a breath of air as he grinds his erection against Jason's. "So much, Jay." 

Jason answers that with a tug of his hair that makes fire pool in his groin. "Don't talk," He orders. "I don't want to hear those words. Just begging. Just pleading." 

It's frantic, but ultimately unsatisfying. Dick is still hard and aching the more they grind, the front of his briefs nearly soaked through with pre-come and Jason isn't much better off. "Up," Jason says at last. "Strip and get on the bed." And Dick's familiar with that too. He even manages to put a bit of saunter into his walk, and to his strip tease, as he moves to Jason's bed. Jason's eyes have gone dark, and they are entirely focused on him. Just how he wants. 

Later, Dick won't remember the moments in their entirety. He'll remember Jason's body, the way his muscles flex as he strips out of his sweatpants. He counts scars, counts the few that are shiny and newly healed. He watches how elegant Jason's fingers can be as he slicks them with lubricant and then they are sliding between his legs. 

It's rough preparation. Just how Dick likes it, and Jason can play him so easily now. No one, Dick thinks, will ever know him as well as the man pressed against him, kissing down his jaw and biting his throat while he shoves two fingers in his ass. It's an almost giddy thought. 

"Don't have condoms anymore," Jason murmurs against his ear. Permission asked, once again. No matter how emotional they both are, no matter how they both need this. 

"It's fine," Dick breathes in return, parting his legs to get Jason between them. 

"Christ," Jason mutters. "You're not a bride on your wedding night." But he takes advantage, guides his cock to Dick's slick hole and shoves inside. It takes a few rocks of his hips, but he's fully seated with little preamble. 

They are both already desperate. Dick groans and his toes curl as Jason hilts him. He digs as much nail as he has into Jason's back, legs wrapping around him. He feels full. Different. It's what he's been craving, especially since the phone call. Dick decides then he's going to live for the moment and not think outside it, because this one is already great and going to get even better. 

It's a kind of frantic rutting. Something they are too old to do, something they both know better than. Yet, it works. Pleasure coils low and hot in Dick's belly as he hitches his hips up to meet Jason, to get him to fuck him even deeper. 

"So good at taking it," Jason whispers, pairing that with a moan and a flick of his tongue against Dick's ear. "Built to take my cock, aren't you? Built to be all mine." And Dick can only whine an affirmation. He's Jason's. Body and soul. 

It's new. Both because it's been so long and because it's like this. Rough and tender at the same time. Face to face. Jason kisses him. Dick kisses back, bites his lower lip, and lets Jason haul his legs up to nearly touching his shoulders. 

When orgasm comes, it's almost a surprise. It's intense; the build has been strong, has been dragged out. Dick feels the pulsing of himself around Jason first, sees the look of surprise and pleasure on his face, and then he's peaking. It goes on and on, and he feels like he's hyper sensitive. Every motion Jason makes inside him has him gasping for breath, unsure if he wants to shove him back or pull him closer. He chooses the second, pulls Jason as close as he can get him. 

Jason can just rock against him. Desperate bucks of his hips before he's hissing air between his teeth, coming hot and hard enough that Dick can feel it inside him. He stares into Jason's face, awed by the expression, surprised by the rawness of it. 

And then Jason is giving him the sweetest little kiss. They stay like that for a moment, hearts hammering, Dick half dizzy with the lack of air that comes from Jason's weight on top of him. He doesn't care so much about that. He can run his hands over Jason, can memorize every detail, can have him as close as humanly possible. 

Eventually, they have to part. For this moment and for however long to come. Jason pulls away first, as he always does, going to the bathroom without a word to clean up. Dick follows, because Jason has rules about cleaning up in his kitchen after sex, and he leans his forehead against the taller man's shoulder. 

“It's been a long night for you,” Jason offers quietly. He rakes a hand through his own hair. “I think you should get some sleep.” 

Dick feels tired. But he doubts sleep is going to fix it. He's tired down to his bones. He links his fingers with Jason's. “Come with me tonight?”

Jason purses his lips, and he clearly knows he shouldn't. That they are delaying the inevitable. But he lets Dick pull him back to bed, and he crawls under the covers after him. It's Dick who decides the position, lying on his side. But Jason spoons against his back, arm going around his waist to hold him close. 

It hasn't even been two years. Two years ago he never would have trusted Jason at his back. He would have helped Bruce lock him up and he would have personally thrown away the key. “You're really better when you're away?” Dick questions gently. “Happier?”

There's the press of a face against the back of his head. “I am. Just this place...it's too close to Gotham. I need time away. I need to get my shit together, Goldie. I have to do that by myself.” 

Dick can relate. He hates that he can. His fingers find Jason's beneath the blankets, and he simply holds his hand. “I know you do. Just...check in? If you won't come back?”

Jason makes a noise of affirmation. “I've already promised not to disappear forever.” And Dick wonders who he made that promise to. He's jealous and grateful, whoever it is. “It's not forever. So don't mope around and let me hear about how Nightwing cries on his rogues instead of caging them.”

It isn't forever. And it's amazing, Dick knows, what a difference even a year can make. He only has to think of Jason to prove that to himself. “I'll still miss you.” 

“I'll miss you too.” It's almost too quiet to hear. Dick turns his face and Jason nuzzles him, but it turns into more of a headbutt. It draws a laugh out of Dick. “You still have a scar, you know. Right on your cheekbone where I ground your face into the floor that first night.” 

Dick knows he doesn't. But in that moment, he really wants it to be true. “You're such an asshole.” 

“I know,” Jason agrees with a fond sigh and a little squeeze around Dick's middle. “This has been a learning experience for us both, hasn't it?”

“To put it mildly.” Not one Dick would trade for anything. Especially not at the moment, aching in a pleasant way, without even the edge of violence to offset it. Jason's given him that. Jason's given him the glimpse of how he could be all the time, given some distance. Given a chance to heal completely. “You've got some issues, Jay.” 

He can feel the laughter more than hear it. “Yeah, and you control them so well. Like I control you.” 

Dick can't argue with that. He falls asleep to the feeling of Jason's lips against his shoulder. Jason is gone when he wakes up the next morning, along with the two bags that were on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go! Reviews and comments always loved and appreciated. 
> 
> Got a prompt? Question? Wanna write something together? I love getting prompts and doing all those things. Hit me up [ on tumblr](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com</s).

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/Comments/Suggestions always appreciated. I enjoy prompts, especially considering I'm trying to work out some side notes to this series! Feel free to drop them here or contact me [on tumblr](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com) which I swear I read even if I never post. 
> 
> Until next chapter <3


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